


By My Will Alone

by Decorera



Series: The Wolf, The Flame, and the Lioness [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animal Sacrifice, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Dirty Talk, F/F, F/M, Light BDSM, M/M, Mind Control, Multi, Rape/Non-con Elements, Spoilers for Netflix fans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-18 06:16:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21923029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decorera/pseuds/Decorera
Summary: "He betrayed me.""And you will have your vengeance.""Yes."
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Duny (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Pavetta Fiona Elen
Series: The Wolf, The Flame, and the Lioness [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1292072
Comments: 11
Kudos: 122





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LucasWerewolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucasWerewolf/gifts).



> I changed my mind and restructured the chapters. Apologies to those who read the first chapter already. Now it is twice as long.  
> Inspiration from Neil Gaimen for a section of this. Wonderful author I highly recommend.  
> For fans of the Netflix series: this story contains spoilers for the Netflix series. Previous stories in this series do not contain the spoilers.

Pain!

She lifted her hand to press against her throbbing cheek. Tears welled up and overflowed down her face.

“Stop!” She jumped at the sudden noise. “Matilda, you can’t just hit the girl like that! She’s in shock and she’s…”

A voice like a broom – stiff, prickly, and practical- swept away the shrill censorious words. “And she’s just had some sort of very traumatic experience. I am aware, Selene. However if the girl does not wake up enough to answer some basic questions, her man may well die.”

She looked up and blinked against the candle light. Two women stood before her, both clad in dresses of undyed linen but not poor either. Her eyes hung upon the intricate embroidery. The symbols were familiar but their meanings escaped her.

“Girl!”

She jumped again and sluggishly raised her eyes to the piercing gaze of the smaller woman. The woman nodded in satisfaction.

“Girl, you are in the Temple of Melitele. When your man carried you here, you were unresponsive and slipping into shock. Unfortunately, while we were treating you, your man slipped off into a quiet corner and collapsed. We cannot wake him so you must answer our questions. Does your man have a bad reaction to celandine?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“What about bloodmoss?”

The girl blinked and then shook her head.

The small woman narrowed her almond eyes, “Can you at least tell me what happened to you?”

Water rushing, weight so much weight, pulling her down…

A hand seized her wrist and pulled her up. The girl stumbled up from the bed and staggered after the woman pulling her forward down smooth stone passage ways. She caught the scent of night jasmine before she was roughly pulled into a room and pushed toward a solitary bed. There was a man on it. She was scared of him at first; his face was rough with scars, and his hair and skin were corpse pale. But something about his face - maybe the shape of his lips or the slightly crooked angle of his nose - calmed her heart. She drew closer and felt a quite irresistible urge to take his hand.

The small woman hovered across the man’s sick bed like a particularly persistent crow. “This man saved your life when he brought you here. You must pull yourself together and save him right back.”

The girl clung to the lax hand whose rough callouses promised safety. Her other hand traveled up the man’s chest to rest on his breast. “His medallion… it’s gone.”

“Girl…” the woman growled but the girl kept on, “He never takes it off, never, not even when he is sleeping. A wolf’s head…” She blinked slowly, “I have to find it. He needs it. The Wolf, the wolf’s head medallion.”

The small woman peered down at the man and slowly pealed back one eyelid to reveal a dead cat’s eye, still and unresponsive to the light. “A witcher…” the woman murmured and looked up, “Well done, girl.”

The girl drew herself up in distant anger, “I have a name, you know.” The words sounded like they were being delivered by an actor playing her, whoever she was, on a stage.

“Really?” the woman drawled sarcastically and brushed back greyish strands of hair into her neat black bun, “What is it then?”

The girl opened her mouth than shut it again. She was silent for a long still moment. “I don’t know.”

The taller woman behind them made a sound of dismay which was swiftly drowned out by the shorter woman’s snort. “Well, we have to call you something. Until you remember; we’ll call you Lisle.” She smirked, “Lisle the Wanderer,”

The girl, Lisle, found herself humming a tune. It was catchy and bright but somehow sad too. The small woman nodded. “You know the song.”

Lisle looked up at her, “I don’t know the words.”

The small woman snorted again and answered, “Neither do I, but not knowing the words has never stopped me from singing. Now shush and hold your man’s hand while we work.”

The two women bustled around the sick man and Lisle. They mixed potions, dribbled some in his mouth, and wiped on salves. All the while Lisle sat still and watched. Finally the taller woman smiled in awkward relief and sank down onto a bench to rest. Her eyes fell on Lisle and softened.

“Lisle, dear. I am Selene, Priestess of Melitele. Our temple is a quiet place, out here in the country, but there is no better pace to recover the wounds done to your spirit. Stay and rest. Pray with us and heal.”

The shorter woman’s mouth twitched upwards but did not quite change from its stern line. “I am Matilda, Priestess of Melitele. You are welcome here.” She carried over a jug of fresh well water and three cups expertly cradled in one hand. “Now girl. I believe your witcher is stable. Likely enough, he’ll get better on his own.” She sipped some water, “Yet it is uncommon for a witcher to collapse. If he takes a turn for the worse, we will need to know more to be able to treat him properly.”

Her sister priestess looked at her with a kind but reproving glance, “Matilda, the child needs rest not an interrogation.” Matilda sighed and fell silent.

The girl called Lisle clutched at the man’s hand. For some reason, the thought of losing this man- a stranger to her- filled her with such fear. Her mouth grew dry and she trembled. Matilda’s sharp eyes focused on her.

“Right now,” she said briskly, “We are treating his symptoms. However it is a healer’s prerogative to treat the cause of the illness, not the symptom it creates.” She stopped there and the silence was faintly judgmental.

Lisle bowed her head under that judgmental weight, but inside something flared to life in anger. A small beaten down voice rallied. How dare this woman judge her? Never the less, the voice inside was weak and quickly Lisle found herself talking.

“We were in the water. That’s what I remember. Salt on my lips and being pulled down and down and..”

“Drink your water.”

Lisle started and tremulously lifted her cup to her lips. The priestesses shared a glance. Selene rose and began moving quietly around the room. Matilda hummed thoughtfully and said in a calculatedly casual tone. “When he brought you here, your skirts were torn and ragged. Cut away from your bodice. We thought…”

Lisle stared into the water of her cup. The waves crashing over her face. Salt stinging her eyes. Coughing and gasping for breath. The man’s arm wrapped around her chest; like being strangled by an iron bar. A flash of moonlight reflecting not off the water but a knife. 

“Geralt…” 

The water was pulling her under, pressing her like a vice against his arm. Then a sudden release from the weight. Foul words from behind her as her head cracked into his. Then movement, the arm around her chest dragging her backwards through the water.

The smell of salt mingled with lavender. There was no lavender out at sea. Lisle blinked and turned around. Selene kept calmly lighting incense and Lisle breathed in the fresh smell.

“You said Geralt.” Lisle swung her face back forward to Matilda. “Is that his name?”

“Yes. At least I think so. He was in the water with me. He cut away my skirts. He was trying to rescue me.”

Matilda nodded, “Geralt shows symptoms of acute cold, dangerous cold in fact...”

“Cold?” Lisle tilted her head.

“Cold kills.” Matilda said briskly. “You show as Northern bred. Surely you know this.”

“Of course,” Lisle answered without thinking, “Someone caught in the snow can died without a mark on them, but we were just in the water…”

Matilda rolled her eyes, “Water is cold and your body needs to maintain a certain temperature. Even a small change in temperature is enough to kill if it lasts long enough. And if you went in to the water where I expect, then the two of you were several miles offshore. Easily long enough for the chill of the water to kill you both.”

Lisle unconsciously began chaffing the hand she held. “But why…” she trailed off.

“Why are you fine?” Matilda finished. “I don’t know and I am very curious.”

A light crack of brittle sound caught Lisle attention and she turned to see Selene crumbling a piece of salt onto an incense brazier. Lisle rose and walked over to it. The metal was warm and the smell of salt began to fill the room. 

“Get on top of it!”

Lisle flinched as a low rough voice cut through her mind. Wet wood tore at her hands and ripped her fingernails as she desperately tried to haul herself out of the water onto the flotsam Geralt held steady. The scraps of mast and rigging bobbed up and down like an unruly horse as she desperately clung on. The wind whipped at her cold skin and she began shivering violently.

Geralt swore viciously and slapped his palm against the metal rings wrapping the mast. The metal grew hot so fast Lisle flinched up and the water around her grew warm and steamy. Listle clung hard as another wave powered over them. Salt stung her eyes as she struggled hear Geralt over the crashing of the waves.

“Just hold on, for me. Please, hold on!”

“Lisle…”

Lisle breathed in and coughed. Selene pulled her away from the incense and guided her back to her seat. Lisle grabbed Geralt’s hand and lifted it to her lips. She tasted salt still lingering on his cold skin. Selene and Matilda waited patiently for her to gather her thoughts.

“He, he can do magic. Fire, I think I remember.” Geralt’s fierce face lit up by the glow of sudden flame and the screams of her enemies dying. Lisle shook her head. “He heated the water; kept me warm.” 

“Ah!” Selene broke into an excited sigh. “That’s it then!” She turned to Matilda excitedly. “Magical exhaustion…”

“Combined with physical exhaustion, acute cold; yes, he’s probably done quite a bit of damage to himself. If he has abused his natural channels for magic by continuing to try and cast beyond his limits, yes, he may well have done himself a real injury.”

“But,” Lisle looked between the two of them anxiously, “You can heal him, yes?”

They gave her identical calm looks. “Neither of us is powerful enough to be trained as a sorcerous, my dear.” Selene said kindly. “So we cannot simply heal him through magical means. We are trained to help though and Matilda has some minor talent. He will recover in time. The real danger is that his glandular systems, the way his body protects itself from illness, have been severely weakened. While he is healing, he will be in great danger of normal sicknesses that would never even bother him under normal circumstances.”

“As cold and wet as he got,” Matilda continued, “I fully expect him to contract the common flux or, in the worst case, pneumonia. Fortunately, he is in the best place possible for him. A warm bed with healer ready to treat any illness that presents itself.”

Selene stood up and reached out to place a gentle hand on Lisle’s shoulder. “And now let’s get you tucked into a warm bed. It’s time to heal.”

The temple of Melitele was a very good place to heal. Scents of newly baked bread herald the rising sun, quiet voices of the faithful coming to make offerings to the goddess drift on the air like flower petals in the spring, and the weathered stones of the long echoing hallways grow warm in the afternoon sun. Lisle visited with Geralt every day to tend him as his lungs filled with phlegm and he coughed weakly but never woke. She would have stayed all day, but the priestesses encouraged Lisle to take time for herself. 

Lisle found she enjoyed sitting in the garden and eventually helping Selene to tend it. She did not care for the smelly apothecary room where Selene took the fruits and flowers of the garden to turn them into medicines. Lisle enjoyed the library Matilda cared for, drifting to the books of poetry rather than the histories and scriptures Matilda patiently copied. The big map of the Northern Realms, carefully framed and hung on the library wall, always drew her attention. She spent time every day staring at it; wondering where she came from.

But as her body healed from the chill of the sea and the bruises of Geralt’s saving grip on her arms, her mind refused to open the gates of memory. She spoke to Selene of it often; the older woman always willing to sit and listen. Most often they took tea in the late afternoon in Geralt’s sick room. After a full week, Lisle finally snapped.

“When am I going to remember, Selene! I know it’s there. I can feel it; like a word trapped on the tip of my tongue. I can remember I like pottage and hate onions, but I can’t even remember my own name!” 

Selene hummed thoughtfully as she poured herself more tea. “You need to give yourself time. Time is the greatest healer of all.”

“I have given myself time! Geralt still hasn’t woken and what if it is because of something I’ve forgotten? I cannot simply wait because this effects more than just me. I know that he needs me! But why?” She turned and gripped Geralt’s lax hand. “He’s mine. I need to remember.” 

Selene tipped her head and considered Lisle. Slowly, as if reluctant to speak, she said, “Sometimes the mind protects the soul by keeping a person from remembering something. Some hurts are wounds of the soul; deep and life changing. Most commonly, I find this happens in children who need that kind of protection.” Selene eyed her, “Or in young women who have been raped. Something happens which is such a brutal invasion, physical or emotional, that the mind cannot accept how much their life will be changed by the event. Consequentially it refuses to accept that the event happened. A way to pretend life can continue on as it had before.”

Lisle shuddered, “Do you think that’s what happened to me? That someone raped me?”

“Perhaps. I did at first, certainly.” Selene said calmly, “When a man comes in carrying a bruised swooning girl with her skirts torn up, it is a common conclusion. But perhaps no. No, I think your mind is hiding something more emotional than physical.”

Lisle shook her head in frustration, “But nothing is coming back to me! Help me, please! I need to know!”

Selene pursed her lips then let out a long slow breath. “You wear a wedding ring on your hand.”

Lisle blinked and looked down at her left hand. Sure enough on her hand was a simple golden ring. She twisted it curiously. “I never even noticed it.” It felt right on her hand; common and natural.

Selene nodded. “Geralt… is not wearing a wedding ring.”

Lisle blinked and looked up at her calm face. “What?”

“Where is your husband, Lisle?”

At first, the words didn’t make sense to her. “Excuse me, could you repeat that? I didn’t quite…”

Her husband. A young face, older than her but still young. Hair black as night, blacker yet when her pale hands carded through it. Warm soft skin with lines from laughter slowly creasing the corners of his beautiful eyes. Her hand clasped in his with matching rings twinkling in the torch light.

Lisle looked up at Selene in shock. “My husband…”

Selene looked at her sadly. “What happened when you told him about Geralt, dear? Did he react badly to your betrayal?”

Lisle froze. “My betrayal?” Her words were barely a whisper of air.

Sudden silver light filled the room and made Selene flinch back. The girl rose and her eyes burned with silver fire. “HE BETRAYED ME!” Her words broke the air like thunder as power emanated wildly from her towering form. Selene fled back to the doorway as items around the room began to rattle and rise into the air. The girl screamed and the power tripled. 

Matilda came running. “What in sweet Melitele’s name is going on?” Selene shouted back but the power emanating from the girl kept her from being heard. Matilda stared into the room and then screamed as loud as she could. 

“Lisle! Lisle!” The girl showed no sign of hearing her. “Girl! Listen! You are going to hurt Geralt! You need to control yourself! Look at him!”

It seemed, at first, like Matilda’s words had no effect but slowly the girl turned to look down at the man still in his sickbed. He was grimacing in pain. The girl knelt and took his hand. The silver maelstrom began to calm and the pained expression eased from Geralt’s face. The flying objects slowly drifted down until all was still. Silence filled the air only to be broken by a quiet murmur from Geralt’s lips.

“Pa…ve…tta…”

The girl bowed her head to kiss his hand. “It’s alright, Geralt. I’m here. I remember now. I’ll take care of everything.” The silver fire smoldered in her eyes, banked but not extinguished. 

\-----------

“I’ve told you, Pavetta. Until you have control over your power, you are just going to be a danger to those around you. You are undisciplined and weak. If you want to be able to see your child again before winter, control yourself.”

Pavetta snarled and stalked out of Matilda’s workroom. She stomped down the hallways and out into the bright morning sunlight. She threw herself down on the soft clover and screamed into her hands. A soft chuckle made her turn her glare onto Selene. The sun shone off Selene’s golden hair tied back in long plaits. The older woman knelt beside an herb bed and was tenderly separating tiny sprouts.

Pavetta huffed and rolled onto her back to stare up at the puffy white clouds. “She keeps telling me to control myself, over and over, as if somehow or another knowing what to do is just going to spring into my head by divine inspiration.”

Selene laughed, “You never know; it just might.”

Pavetta huffed. Selene sat up and regarded her kindly. “Dear Pavetta. I think it would be lovely if you would tell me about your mother.”

Pavetta sat up too, “My mother?”

Selene nodded, “You have told us precious little and, for the most part, the details of your story matter little. But it strikes me that if you have such difficulty with control, perhaps you have not had much practice with it?” Selene blinked slowly like a sleepy cat in the sunlight. “How much control have you had over your own life?”

Pavetta wet her lips and played with her long silver blond hair. “Precious little,” she admitted at last.

Selene nodded, “It is a common problem for women. Their fathers and mothers control them all their childhood. Then they marry and their husbands control them. Even if their husbands die, their in-laws can rule their life still. Precious few women have the opportunity to control their own lives.” Selene’s eyes drifted over to Pavetta like a puffy cloud. “Mostly only noblewomen.”

Pavetta stiffened and then sighed heavily, “You know, don’t you?”

Selene’s long fingers sorted the weeds from the sprouts slowly and carefully. “A messenger came from Cintra announcing that the Prince and Princess of Cintra are suspected of being killed in a ship wreck. They are searching the coast for your bodies.”

Pavetta crawled closer, “Why didn’t you give me up?”

“Why didn’t you go home when your memories returned?”

They sat in silence under the rising sun. Pavetta listened to the birds singing and Selene waited patiently until she was ready to speak. “My mother enjoys control. Like you mentioned, her father controlled her and then when she married my father, he made all the decisions; often against her advice. I think it was such a relief to her when he died.”

“Oh she’d never said it like that, but she loves ruling Cintra. She loves making the decisions and watching the men around her dance to her tune. She was so disappointed when I turn out to enjoy quietly reading in the garden rather than learning to fight or manipulate.” Pavetta laughed, “Here she was, ready to begin a great new dynasty; to lead forth and show the world what female leaders could do and her only daughter wanted nothing more than romance and a quiet life.”

Pavetta pulled up a handful of grass, “I was a big disappointment to her, I am sure. Even more so, when I got pregnant. You don’t know this man, she told me. He is using you. He is just trying to steal your throne. I told her no. That he loved me. That he would rule by my side. That I could trust him.”

“I really thought I could.” 

Selene didn’t say anything. It felt a little like Pavetta was reciting her life out to the garden for nature to do with it as it willed. Pavetta didn’t know whether that felt good or bad. It felt wrong to just end there, though.

“After the wedding, things were wonderful. I had Duny with me and his presence softened the pain of my mother still controlling everything; from our clothes, to the food, to where we went, and how our daughter was to be raised. It was normal for me and I never even guessed how much it must have torn at Duny. He should have talked to me!”

Selene nodded thoughtfully, “Did you have control over any aspect of your life?”

Pavetta blushed and looked away. “I, umm, Duny, he… we liked to play games in the bedroom. He would let me… rule him…” She glanced up and when she did not see censure on Selene’s face, Pavetta was able to continue. “I was in charge and it felt wonderful.”

Selene nodded and asked quietly, “Did you have complete control over him?”

Pavetta nodded and then hesitated. “No, we had a signal. A little something to tell me if Duny was uncomfortable or wanted to stop.”

Selene looked up, “That was very wise of you. I have seen others in your position who, in their desire for control, took advantage of their partner. Many times they hurt them badly.”

Pavetta smiled fondly, “We had a good teacher.”

Selene raised an eyebrow, “But… that did mean that you were sharing the power between you. Did that bother you?”

Pavetta shook her head, “No, no it was us. Can you understand? What was his was mine and what was mine was his.”

Selene tilted her head in that bird like way of hers, “Including Geralt?”

Pavetta pressed her hands to her burning cheeks and nodded. Selene chuckled, “Well, unconventional to be sure, but you were happy?”

“We were so happy.”

“Were you?”

Pavetta looked up and met Selene’s inquisitive gaze. She blinked slowly before she continued. “Was Geralt, a common man and a witcher happy at your restrictive royal court? Was your husband happy being ruled so aggressively by your mother, his mother-in-law?” Pavetta wet suddenly dry lips. “Was your child happy…”

“Stop it!”

Pavetta stood up, her fist clenched angrily and silver fire starting to glow from her eyes. “Don’t you ever talk about my child like that! You don’t know her. We were happy!” She fled rather than face Selene’s calm eyes.

Pavetta found herself in the library. Her hands travelled over the books of poetry. On a whim, she pulled out a copy of Lesarus’ 'Grass and the Wind', one of her favorite poet’s best collections. She opened it and casually glanced at the page.

‘If destiny wills us to part, would you throw off all you know and follow me? Would you give up your right name and rest unknown upon my breast? Will you still love me in another country? Will you still love me by another name? Will you still love me if all the world cursed my name? For I would you, if such demands were made.’

Pavetta slammed the book shut and dropped it to the floor. “You were supposed to follow me. Not I you,” she hissed.

“Refrain from taking your anger out on my books, if you please.”

Pavetta turned and snapped out, “What exactly am I supposed to take my anger out on then?” Matilda just stared at her reproachfully. “No, enough judgement, enough lectures!” She beat on her chest, “I want this to stop hurting. I want to be able to think without every moment being cut by this betrayal. I don’t want to be the weak victim anymore!”

“Then change!” Matilda snapped back. “You want control of your life then take it!”

“I can’t!” Pavetta screamed, “The only way I can get control is away from my mother, but all my power comes from her. I can’t even control this magic inside my very bones. How am I supposed to take the power I want to get my revenge!”

The echoes of her screams lingered like a bad taste in the mouth. Matilda frowned at her. “Is that what you really want?”

“What?” Pavetta whispered, no louder than the hissing of the torches.

“I’ve tried to motivate you so many ways. For your child, for your lover, for your mother, against your mother, but not a single thing has motivated you as much as revenge for your betrayal.”

Pavetta hugged herself, “I never said I was perfect,” she muttered resentfully.

“No one is,” Matilda said sharply, “But revenge is a poisoned blade that will cut you even as it destroys what you hate.”

“I don’t care! I don’t care. I don’t.”

“You might in the future.”

Pavetta looked up angrily, “Then that will be my problem in the future.” She swallowed against a big lump in her throat. “What god will help me?” she demanded, “I need help. I need clarity and vision to seek my vengeance. I will make whatever sacrifices are necessary. What god will help me?”

Matilda stared at her across the silent library. “There are many gods who would give you what you think you want for a little blood spilt on the right stone. However if you are serious about what you have just asked for, then Melitele will help you best.”

“Melitele” Pavetta said scornfully. “A sweet goddess of love and motherhood, of children and childbirth. How is she…”

“If you think that love is all innocent devotion and romance, then you have been reading too many novels. Love has turned your own heart to a shard of glass, has it not?”

Pavetta could barely breath under the weight of Matilda’s words. 

“You haven’t said it, but I have read it in every word you haven’t said. You love your husband. You love him deeply and you will forever. That’s why his betrayal, whatever it was, cuts you to your soul. Love is the most powerful force there is. Ask any child who cries in the night for a dead father and mother. Ask the woman who hacks a begging man into pieces with an ax for raping her daughter. Ask a man who works himself into an early grave to feed his family. Ask them the price of love and the power it can create.”

Pavetta groped forward until she could grab Matilda’s hand, “Yes,” she hissed out. Her eyes were wild with wonder and hurt. “I will do anything for my vengeance.”

Matilda stared at her a moment longer before sighing heavily. “Bring a black pig to the temple by the next full moon and we will ask.”

Pavetta squeezed her hand and darted away. Matilda sighed again and picked up the book. “Foolish girl.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Was that worth it?”

Pavetta looked up from where she was washing the mud off of her face and hands and smiled at Selene. “Of course it was. Oh, and look! I found Geralt’s medallion! It must have fallen off on the side of the road as he brought me here.”

Selene grabbed at her hand. The medallion fell once more to the ground as Selene shook her. “You, a princess of Cintra, just crawled through the mud and muck of three villages, each more unhelpful then the last, to find a single black pig. Do not think that this is the last sacrifice you will have to make if you call upon Red Melitele.”

Pavetta shook her off and picked up the medallion once more. She cupped it to her chest. “I am prepared to pay whatever the cost.”

Selene shook her head, “You say that now, but vengeance is never worth the price you pay for it, child. Please believe me. The way of forgiveness will bring you more peace. The Crone is wiser than Red Melitele and far less dangerous.”

Pavetta shook her head. “I need to do this. It is the only way to save my country.”

Selene watched her silently for a moment. “If you are resolved then there are only two pieces of advice I can give you. The first is to be honest. If you are doing this to save your country, then say so. But if you are calling upon Melitele for revenge, admit it. It will go easier for you if you do.”

An owl hooted as it passed by overhead. Selene pursed her lips. “It is almost time. Cleanse yourself thoroughly then come into the temple. I will bring the pig.” She walked swiftly away. Pavetta almost called after her but turned back to the water. The medallion slipped down into the pocket of her dress.

When she was finally clean, Pavetta walked into the temple. A door was open which she had never noticed before. Before it stood Selene. The pig was also much cleaner and had a white rope tied around its neck. Selene nodded to her and turned to lead the way down steep stone ramps. They moved slowly at a pig’s pace. Still it seemed like they had been walking for ages before the floor leveled out and Pavetta could see firelight ahead.

“You know, you never told me the second piece of advice.”

Selene looked at her calmly, “Be patient. Melitele does not like to be rushed. Do so and risk her ire.” 

Without another word, Selene walked forward into the light. Pavetta swallowed. “Was that the advice or just general admonishment?” she muttered and followed Selene into a huge natural cavern. Rather than the usual stink of bat habitation, the cavern smelled rather clean; a light smell of incense: cedar, sandalwood and lavender. Almost impossible to detect was another scent, the faint metallic smell of dried blood. The vast space had a central wooden pillar with markings carved in its surface, strange geometrical designs of swirling and parallel lines, that she could also see in various places, even traced on the ground in various powders. An altar with the trifold goddess’ statue on it held a place of honor between two silver braziers. 

Pavetta felt an energy in the air, the strange feeling her skin might crawl off on its own. Selene brought the pig in and tied the rope to the pillar. She bowed and then left the cavern. Matilda appeared out of the darkness of one corner. She was naked with her greying black hair unbound. Her skin was traced with patterns drawn on by colorful oils. Pavetta noted the same pattern she had noticed around the room took the place of honor: low on Matilda’s belly, the womb.

Matilda gestured to a basket by the entrance. “Bare yourself before the goddess.” Strangely, it didn’t seem odd or uncomfortable to undress in this holy place. It felt right and natural. She was dealing with a priestess in her place of power, and Matilda radiated authority. Matilda led her to a place to sit on the floor, in the middle of a complex design seemingly drawn with powdered red clay. Matilda went to a corner, returning with two pots. The first had a vegetable ointment which Matilda used to paint swirling sigils on the black pig’s skin.

The second held the same red powder and Matilda stood, extending her arm, letting the powder slip through her fingers and drift slowly to the ground in remarkably accurate lines, completing the pattern on the floor. The instant she was done, Pavetta knew. The prickling feeling at the back of her neck grew stronger. Matilda went back to the corner and returned carrying an elaborately painted wooden doll wearing a beautifully handmade infants gown. She was also carrying a gleaming knife. Matilda placed the knife carefully into the space prepared for it in the pattern, closed her eyes and began chanting beneath her breath, swaying softly in place and rocking the doll to an otherworldly rhythm only she could hear.

Pavetta held very still, afraid of what might happen if she disturbed the lines of the pattern. She could only watch mutely as Matilda bent to place the doll in a basket lined with soft cloth by the pillar and took up the knife. Pavetta flinched slightly at the pig’s squeal when Matilda cut its throat. The blood spilt upon the floor and pooled around Matilda’s feet while the silver knife fell to the floor with a clang.

Pavetta leaned back as power began to buffet her in growing waves. She squinted against a bright red light and then blinked away stars until she could see again. She realized the fires had burned low into the braziers, despite ample fuel. Instead deep crimson light emanated from the woman standing before her. The woman turned and Pavetta could see Matilda’s almond eyes had turned a brilliant rose red.

Matilda was gone. Melitele was here.

Pavetta shuddered under the power emanating from the woman before her. Melitele hummed and swayed back and forth to a rhythm Pavetta recognized; a rhythm every mother knows instinctively as soon as the child in their arms begins to fuss. Melitele stooped and gently picked up the doll from the basket. She tucked the child under her chin and sang gently to it.

Hush a baba, my baby. Hush hush hush. Rest ta baba, sweet baby.

Melitele cupped her breast and the old flesh began to drip with milk. Melitele brought the doll to her breast and, to Pavetta’s astonishment and shock, the sound of suckling came from the previously inanimate doll. Melitele sank down to sit comfortably and paid no attention to Pavetta. All her attention was on the doll-child nursing at her breast.

Melitele reached into the basket to pull out a cloth dampened with rose water. She gently cleaned the doll’s face and chuckled as the doll squirmed in agitation. “Hush sweet child. Drink your fill.”

Pavetta waited, but her patience ran out before Melitele’s milk. She shifted forward on her knees.

Bad move. It caught Melitele's attention. Rose colored eyes snapped to her face and the goddess twitched her fingers. Pavetta felt the air she had drawn into her lungs to speak with rush out in one big whoosh. She coughed and fell forward in surprise. When she looked up, Melitele was wiping away droplets of milk from the doll’s face. The stone eyes of the doll stared adoringly up and its painted mouth moved in a silent ‘Mama’. Melitele smiled and tucked the child against her bare chest. Then once again, her eyes settled on Pavetta.

“Why should I listen to anything you have to say, Pavetta Fiona Elen? Why should I listen to a mother who cares not for her child? Why listen to a woman who cares more for her own life and choices than her family?”

Pavetta wet her lips, “I was told you could help me.” 

Melitele chuckled, “I could. I could ease the pain in your heart. I could light the fire of your determination. I could bestow you with knowledge. All of which would help, but it would be your actions and your will alone which would be the final determinate of your destiny. Why should I help a woman who shut her eyes to her lover’s pain and bends before her mother’s will? Even now your mother, Calanthe breaks your daughter’s engagement to Prince Windhalm of Attre and plots to engage her four year old grandchild with Prince Kistrin of Verden. All for political profit and despite knowing Kistrin’s father is a brute who beats his wife and will most likely pass that trait on to his son.”

Melitele’s eyes burned blood red, “This is the woman who you allow to determine the destiny of your child? To move you all as pieces on her shah board?”

Pavetta cringed and glanced aside at the sacrificed pig. Melitele followed her gaze and scoffed. “I accepted your sacrifice and I came. I feel no need to listen to your petition. Go cry to my maiden aspect of your sorrows. She will be far more kind then I.”

Pavetta slapped a hand on the ground, “I don’t need kindness. Please, listen to me. Help me. I will do anything!”

Melitele narrowed her eyes, “Then you will give me your oath.” She lifted the doll higher and its stone eyes turned to stare at Pavetta too. “You will swear to me that in twelve days time, you will examine your heart most carefully. If you discover that you cannot love your child for who they are, not who they might become, and make your choices with her happiness and health foremost in your mind, then you will hand over your child to the one who will.”

Pavetta’s soul cried out. “No!” She shook her head. Her loose hair dragging fitfully across the ground. “She is my child! Mine, and no other!”

Melitele’s eyes burned into her, “Then you shall do without my help. I am the protector of mothers and children first and foremost. Give me your oath or give up your vengeance.”

Pavetta tore at the ground and grabbed her silver blond hair in her fists. She shuddered. Melitele waited. Pavetta raised her eyes from the dirt. 

“I swear it.”

Melitele smiled, “Good. Now, woman who would stand forth to defy destiny, tell me your request.”

Pavetta did.

Melitele closed her eyes in contemplation. “This is no small thing you ask. No minor knowledge or boost of confidence.” Her red eyes opened and burned. “It pleases me. Yes, it is a fine revenge. However nothing can be gained from a god without equal sacrifice. The scales must balance.”

Pavetta hunched forward, eager as a hound waiting to be released. “Anything… I will give anything for this.”

Melitele stared at her, “Very well. Then we will begin with the knowledge you seek. Its price is knowledge in return. Answer my questions honestly and be rewarded.”

Pavetta swallowed hard.

“Why did you leave your child behind when you went to meet Duny, Prince Emhyr var Emreis of Nilfgaard, at the ship to Skellege?”

“I didn’t know he was Emhyr!”

Melitele lifted one disappointed eyebrow. Pavetta hissed and gritted out, “I had dreams, bad dreams, and Duny was being very evasive. Maybe we didn’t talk as much as we should. Maybe I should have discussed things with him or…”

“I am not satisfied with ‘Duny was acting odd.’ Be honest, girl, or stop wasting my time. Why did you leave Cirilla behind?”

Pavetta bit her lip. She reached down deep into the angry depths of her heart, where resentment and all her hurt feeling got pushed down. “I wanted to punish him,” she hissed out. “He was ignoring me; just like father used to ignore mother! I DID try to talk to him and he brushed me off with excuses. He chose to confide in a court wizard, Vilgefortz, instead of his WIFE. His Mistress!”

Pavetta clamped a hand over her mouth, feeling like she had just vomited up bile. She swallowed and hunched over.

Melitele nodded. “Good.” Pavetta shuddered.

“You hid Ciri’s absence until the ship was well under sail. To further your punishment, of course: to make it impossible to go back. Why did you confront him on the deck of a ship in a storm instead of in the hold like a sensible woman?”

Pavetta shook her head. “I can’t.” She whispered. “You must,” Melitele answered.

Pavetta met the goddess’ eye and she was back.

Pavetta shaded her eyes against the bright sun as she climbed up out of the hold. The ship was running in the wind, almost taking flight with every big wave. Pavetta smiled and raised a hand to her husband who stood far forward at the bow. Duny was so handsome against the blue sea and sky. He waved and began walking towards her; his gait the slow wide stride of a landsman when contrasted with the rolling steps of the sailors. 

Pavetta frowned as she watched him approach. It should have been impossible to make him out against the setting sun. Pavetta had made the trip to Skellege many times since her mother has married Eist Tuirseach. Every afternoon was agony on the helmsman’s eyes as they sailed west directly into the setting sun. Pavetta looked over her right shoulder and blinked at the huge red sun hovering over the horizon.

“Pavetta!”

She turned back to Duny and accepted his kiss to her hand. Duny smiled broadly, more openly than he had for months. “Is Cirilla feeling better? I know you have been so worried about her seasickness.” Pavetta studied his open and happy face. His smile dimmed as she continued not to talk.

“Pavetta?”

“Why are we running south? We should be able to see the peaks of Faroe by now.” She flung her hand out. “Nothing but open ocean.”

“Pavetta…”

“Captain!” Pavetta broke away from him angrily and approached the captain. “Captain, what is our heading?” The Captain looked up in surprise and glanced away from her to look at Duny. Pavetta stilled. She examined the man closely and he did not flinch; even as she took in his ill-fitting Cintran uniform. He kept his eyes locked on Duny. Duny nodded slightly and the Captain answered her, “We are heading south to the Sedna Abyss.”

Pavetta swallowed, “What an odd accent,” she remarked. “So … southern.” She rounded on Duny. “Would you care to explain this?”

Duny held up his hands, “Pavetta, let us go below. We should talk about this with Cirilla.”

Pavetta laughed in his face. “With Cirilla! Duny, if you had been paying more attention to your family than to your plotting then you would have known that Cirilla never set foot on this ship.”

She viciously enjoyed his expression, months of frustration soothed by his total shock. However her gut clenched as his shock swiftly gave way to panic and fear. Duny didn’t even stay to argue with her; he just fled into the hold calling for Cirilla. Pavetta swallowed down her unease and stepped over the rail to wait for him to give up on searching. 

“It serves him right.” She muttered to herself as she tried not to remember the pain and fear Duny had just shown her. She eyed the sailors as she waited. No Cintra man would ever take her husband’s orders over her own. They very pointedly did not talk or go near her. Pavetta’s suspicions deepened. It was a whole hour later when Duny appeared back on deck. His face was cold and remote as he strode over. His hand clamped down on her wrist.

“Where is she, Pavetta?”

Pavetta looked down at his hand, “You do not speak to me like that, Duny. I am your wife.”

Duny’s grip tightened and he hissed out an angry breath. “You have betrayed me.”

“Who has betrayed whom?” she hissed back tugging at his hand. She thought at first Duny would not release her but he eventually let her go. She stepped back away from him. “You are sailing us south, with a Nilfgaardian crew dressed in Cintran colors. What did Nilfgaard have to pay you to betray me like this? To betray Cintra?”

Duny shook his head.

“Are Cirilla and I to be the Emperor’s hostages perhaps? Held to force mother to allow Nilgaardian troops to pass through Cintra to conquer the north? More fool you then, Duny. My mother would rather slit our throats herself than allow the Empire to conquer Cintra.”

Duny spat, “Your mother doesn’t deserve you and she certainly never deserved Cirilla. And yet you would trust that bitch with our child more than me! Why did you not trust me?”

“Why should I?” she screamed back, “You are selling us to Nilfgaard!”

“No!” he hissed back, “I am Nilfgaard and you are already mine!”

Pavetta stepped back. She looked around in shock as the sailors dropped to their knees one after the other. “You…”

Duny looked at her and began to speak, slowly at first but getting faster and louder as his passion rose. “I am Emhyr var Emreis, son of the true emperor Fergus var Emreis. My curse was laid upon me by my father’s torturer and murderer; doomed to roam in shame knowing that my father’s throne is held by a usurper. The work of generations of my family squandered by one man’s ambition and greed. And now … betrayed by my wife just as I was betrayed before; by those who I thought loved me.”

“And you will have your vengeance?” Pavetta threw spitefully into the rising wind. “Upon the usurper and on me?”

Duny stepped closer until his deep voice could be heard over the howling of the wind and the yells of the sailors as they struggled to trim the sails. “Upon the usurper, oh yes.” He reached out and cupped the side of her lovely face. “Upon you, only if you force me, beloved.”

The rain, it was the rain on her cheeks, not tears. “Did you expect me to be pleased? Pleased to give up everything I had to follow you into a fool's dream? Into execution or the end of my country’s sovereignty?”

Duny, no; Emhyr frowned ferociously, “I expected you to love me and trust me. As you swore you would forever.”

“I expected you to put our family first! Not destroy it!”

“I’m not the one who has separated parents from child!”

Lightning crashed down onto the deck. Emhyr was thrown one way and Pavetta the other. They lay stunned upon the deck as sailors cried out in terror. Pavetta pushed herself up in time to see Emhyr grab a rope and throw himself across the deck to her. But the sea swallowed her before he could reach. The cold water picked her up off her feet and threw her across the ship. She tumbled weightless as a feather on the breeze until with a sharp jerk, something caught; her dress tangled in some rigging.

The wave passed her by and she could see the ship was tipping up as if to dive down into the ocean. But it was magic that made the ship rise. Magic filled the sky and lifted the boat up. Pavetta turned her head at a scream of her name. She saw Emhyr, tied firmly to a long rope sliding towards her. She reached out and caught his arm as the whole ship tipped over sending sailors flying into the sea.

Emhyr strained against her weight. His terrified eyes locked with hers. “Just hold on, for me. Please, hold on!”

Pavetta looked into the eyes of the man she loved, the man who lied to her, betraying her country and her trust.

She let go and fell into the ocean.

The ocean wrapped around her like her mother’s embrace: cold and smothering.

Melitele stroked her hair away from her face as Pavetta gasped for air. “Passion and love, too strong to heed the elements warning. Yes, you were deep in the embrace of love.”

She settled back and asked Pavetta calmly, “Did you mean what you thought when you let go?”

Pavetta wiped her eyes and hugged her knees. “What?” she asked dully.

Melitele opened her mouth and Pavetta’s voice rang out, “I would rather die than give you the satisfaction.”

Pavetta stared exhaustedly at the goddess. “Yes,” she admitted, “In the moment, I meant it.”

Melitele nodded, “Do you mean it now? You know, he is succeeding. I expect him to regain his father’s throne before the first frosts. If you had bowed to his will or trusted him, you would be the Empress of Nilfgaard now.” Melitele smiled cruelly, “Imagine what you could have done with that kind of power.”

“Power that Duny gave me. Power he could always take away.” Pavetta sighed wearily, “If he had just talked to me, maybe…maybe I would have agreed. With certain agreements made to protect Cintra’s sovereignty… maybe. But he didn’t speak to me. He just expected me to quietly go along with him. If that is truly who Emhyr var Emreis is, then he is not the man I loved at all. If it is not and it was just a momentary mistake brought on by stress, then he needs to know that this is my line in the sand which I will not cross.”

“And you will go to war, lead hundreds of Cintra men to the slaughter, to prove your point?”

“What is war but one side drawing a line and being prepared to fight for it?”

Melitele nodded gravely. She seemed to shimmer a bit and the goddess leaned over to dip her fingers in the pig’s spilt blood. She brought them to her lips and suckled. “One last question. You willfully deceived your lover, Geralt of Rivia, about your husband’s death and identity. Why?”

Pavetta opened her mouth to answer and then closed it again. She rubbed her palms over her bare arms. Quietly she answered, “He would leave me.” Melitele was silent. Pavetta gritted her teeth and elaborated. “I don’t know that he would leave me, but I suspect he would. He loves Duny and if he knew Duny is alive...” She swallowed and her throat felt lined with shards of glass, “I need him! I need someone who loves me to stand beside me and support me. And if I told him the truth…” She stopped, breathed, and then continued.

“If I told him the truth, then I would find out if he really loves me or if he would betray me like Duny… Like Emhyr. I cannot survive it if he betrays me too.”

Pavetta ran out of words. She sat there in numb silence until Melitele nodded. 

“For your sacrifice of truth, you shall have the knowledge you seek.”

Pavetta slumped in relief. Melitele tisked. “There is still the rest to balance and it is no small weight. Two sacrifices remain.” Pavetta raised tired eyes to silently wait for the goddess’ price.

“A child out of you, your next child, to be given to the temple. To be raised as one of my own.” Pavetta hesitated long but finally nodded. Melitele continued, “Lastly your lover must receive my blessing.” Pavetta stared and then blushed fiercely. She shook her head. “He would not do it. He has been faithful to us for so long. He would not sleep with Matilda with me here.”

Melitele smiled, “You shall be my horse. I shall ride you and together we shall receive him into us and he shall receive my blessing.”

Pavetta shook her head, “No, he is sick. He is too weak.”

“It is the only way. You seek the Goddess of Marriage’s power to turn against your own husband. Only if my blessing is upon Geralt, will he be buffered from the storm of my power. You swore an oath to be faithful to your husband alone. Geralt helped you break it. I do not make all the rules of power, my child, but I do obey them.” 

Pavetta shook her head. 

“Why?” Melitele challenged her. Pavetta would not speak but the goddess knew anyway. “You do not wish to share him? Good, good. You will need to value him in the times to come. But now it is inconvenient.”

Pavetta hesitated long, but finally shook her head. “It is wrong.”

Melitele tilted her head. “Is it?” she asked with genuine curiosity. “It is for his own good and I won’t hurt him.”

Pavetta shook her head violently, “He would never consent to this if I told him. He would never agree. That makes it rape.” She glared up at Melitele, “Don’t you care about that!”

“He is a man. I am a protector of women and children, not men. His pains do not interest me.” She waved a hand at Pavetta’s appalled expression. “I can only be what I am. Besides you know he would bear any pain for you if you asked. What is a single night with another woman wearing the body of his beloved next to a sword in his gut? Which wound is deeper? If he will not consent knowingly, then don’t tell him.” Melitele’s eyes glowed intensely, “You almost have what you need. What is one betrayal of his trust to getting everything you desire?”

Pavetta bent forward under the weight of the goddess’ question. The goddess suckled more blood as she watched the woman tear herself apart inside and then slowly rebuild herself upon the crumbled foundations. Pavetta raised her head and held out her hand to the goddess. Melitele smiled, “I told you. Your choices will decide your destiny.” Then she took Pavetta’s hand.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bondage, cum play, dirty talk, rimming, sex toys, mind control, humiliation ...  
> Ok, this is basically 6500 words of porn. Bear in mind, the majority of it takes place in a dream which Pavetta(Melitele) is controlling. So many of the pov are effected by her desires. OOC people, big time.
> 
> If you don't can to read porn, you can just skip this chapter. No plot occurs.

Pavetta entered Geralt’s sick room on silent feet. The warm summer night air caressed her bare skin as she slowly moved forward. The torches guttered out as she walked past until the only light came from her glowing red eyes. Geralt tossed and turned on the narrow bed, his instincts biding him rouse without the strength to do so. Pavetta raised a hand and the shutters slowly opened, letting in the light of a full moon. Pavetta turned her face to the moon and the red of her eyes bled into the milky light of the moon. The moon, stained red with blood, looked down on them both as Pavetta drew off Geralt’s blankets.

The witcher was hardened and muscular; scarred but still pleasant enough to look at for the brave of heart. Pavetta felt her sex begin to drip with arousal and felt a little shame. Suddenly the goddess rose in her mind and the shame melted away. Pavetta slipped her hands onto Geralt’s naked form, stroking his soft belly and the firm chest coated with wiry white hair. Her shameless hands drifted down, cupping his soft cock, weighing his balls, and teasing the tender edge beneath his buttocks. Geralt shifted in his sleep but did not awaken.

Pavetta smiled slowly and climbed up onto the bed to crouch above him on all fours. She stretched out atop him and carded her hands into his long thick hair. “Now, my brave adulterer, let us see of what or whom you dream.” Pavetta’s hands stroked mysterious patterns on his scalp as the goddess guided the way into Geralt’s sleeping mind.

Pavetta walked up spiraling stone steps, worn by generations of boots to a slightly curved shape. She let her hand trail out until her fingertip trailed along the stone walls, cold from mountain spring air. Each step echoed around the empty stone tower and the light streaming down from the arrow slits gilded the air with glittering gold dust. Above her she could hear the murmur of people and it drew her up and up.

When she walked into the tower room, she saw Geralt standing in the middle of the wooden floor, wearing just a pair of tight leather trousers. Her husband, Duny, hung from a pair of manacles tied to a roof beam. Geralt was talking and Pavetta felt the Goddess drawing her into Geralt’s mind.

“I told you thief, that you might as well give up your employer. Whoever sent you to steal from a witcher was a fool and not worth protecting.”

Duny shook his head. “I told you, sir, I didn’t come to steal.”

Geralt slapped him. A red mark rose on Duny’s face and he groaned. Geralt stood close behind him, his crotch pressed obscenely into Duny ass so he could feel him getting bigger down there. Geralt slid his hands down Duny’s body until he grabbed his soft balls. Duny sobbed as Geralt tugged firmly down. “Don’t lie to me. I can do anything I want to you. You’re all alone. Why else would you have come here except to steal?” As Geralt went for his nipples, Duny arched his head back in offering and they kissed deeply.

Great broke away and went over to a large chest. He unlocked it and lifted the lid to display a truly spectacular collection of erotic tools. He hummed and selected an iron ball gag with buttery soft leather straps. He had the ball gag in Duny’s mouth and snugly tied off before the young man even knew what was happening to him. Duny’s eyes widened over the gag as Geralt stripped his pants all of the way off and clamped a spreader bar between his thighs, forcing him into a wide stance. Duny was squirming around now and pulling at his wrist restraints. Geralt moved around to in front of him and lifted the last thing he has selected from the chest; a long, thick leather dildo up to his eye level. He went all wild-eyed and backed away from Geralt as far as the restraints would permit, but Geralt reached out and wrapped a big hand around his dick. Duny stopped short and groaned with pleasure. Geralt rubbed the dildo around on Duny’s cock for a short time to let him feel the texture and size of it.

“You see this, little boy, is the size of a real man’s dick. Look at how small your cock looks up against it. Practically not a cock at all, just a little cocklet.” Geralt smacked Duny’s engorged cock with the dildo and the man groaned behind his gag. Geralt slowly started tonguing, kissing, and teething his way down his chest, around his nipples and down his belly. Geralt reached up and applied the nipple clamps hanging down from the ball gag one after the other to his nipples, and stifled screams came from behind the gag. 

Geralt moved behind him and played with Duny’s dick and balls speaking foul but delicious words to him. Eventually when Duny was shaking with pleasure, Geralt dropped to his knees and swallowed his cock. While he sucked cock, Geralt slid the dildo behind Duny’s cock, through his legs, and back and forth across his puckered asshole until Duny melted in relaxation. Geralt was deep throating him, and he was making very satisfied, if muffled, noises from his mouth and had set up a rhythm with his hips. Just as he was getting a good rhythm going, Geralt popped his cock out of his mouth and Duny moaned with frustration. Geralt moved through his legs, his tongue tracing the journey from the base of his balls all the way back to his asshole.

Geralt rimmed Duny's ass with his tongue at first, letting his tongue flicker into his hole and pushing his butt cheeks apart with his hands. The leg spreaders kept Duny from closing his leg even as he blushed a pale pink. He writhed in pleasure above Geralt, obviously enjoying the attention. From time to time, Geralt let a hand stray between his legs to check out his cock to ensure it hadn't lost interest and to squeeze and roll his balls. “Look at what a slut you are,” Geralt said while taking a breather, “You let a stranger touch you like this, moan for him like a whore? Is that why you came up here then? You needed to find a big strong man, a real man to fuck you?”

Duny hung limply in the restraints as Geralt shoved his tongue back inside the soft little hole. But with a chocked sob, Duny began nodding his head. Geralt looked up and cooed, “Aww, look at you. Being honest at last.” He stood, collected a bottle of oil from his chest. “Good boys get rewards.” He said as he began working oily fingers into Duny’s ass. Duny moaned and squirmed, shoving his hips back and twitching like he was trying to beg Geralt to mount him.

Geralt laughed at his pathetic display and shoved four fingers into Duny’s ass at once. Duny pranced like a pony but grunted and began pushing back onto them almost immediately. “Such a good boy. I think you are about ready now for a real man’s cock.” Geralt stood up, stripped down, and oiled the dildo well. Geralt stood up behind Duny and slapped his half-hard cock around on Duny’s pale butt cheeks. Duny gasped and tried to spread his legs even wider.

Duny seemed to like the feel of a cock beating against his butt cheeks. Geralt soon had substituted the dildo though, and I worked it ever closer to his asshole. He arched his back, brought his legs back, and dipped his chest when he felt the head of the dildo gently rimming his asshole. Duny had seen it and knew how long and thick it was and was doing all he could to ensure it didn't split him in two when Geralt worked it in—which he proceeded to do slowly but relentlessly. He had nearly a foot of thick dildo to work inside him. It had an extra bulbous mushroom head on it, so there was no buildup of strain as it moved up his channel—the biggest was always right up front.

Duny was straining and grunting and groaning through the experience, but Geralt could tell that this was exactly what he wanted and it was making Geralt pant with lust. Geralt moved close and began humping his hard cock against Duny’s hip. His right hand held the dildo inside his lover’s ass and corkscrewed it inside him, slowly churning it in and out, while Geralt wrapped my other arm around him and his left hand pulled gently on the nipple clamps and stroked down to his cock and balls and gave them some more attention. Geralt kissed and nuzzled his shoulder blades while Duny trembled underneath him, a background of pain swept over with intense pleasure.

“That’s my good boy. See how well you can take it. I knew you could do it, perfect boy. My perfect boy.”

Duny came in Geralt’s hand then in a prodigious fountain of thick seed.

Geralt ripped the gag off and Duny began to beg. “Please sir, oh gods, fuck me. Please take out the dildo and fuck me. It’s not enough. Please I need you!” Geralt ignored his whimpers and slowly pulled the dildo out—but when just when the rim of the mushroom head was just peeking out, he plunged it back in up to the hilt. Duny threw his head back and screamed at the ceiling, but Geralt covered his mouth in a brutal kiss, as he pumped the dildo deep inside him. He could feel his knees going to rubber, and Geralt pulled the dildo all the way out and threw it to the side.

"Now you," Duny gasped. "Now your cock inside me.” Geralt shoved his cock in and Duny yelled. Geralt threw his head back and moaned. His breathing sped up.

‘Typical masculine fantasy,’ Melitele whispered into Pavetta’s mind. ‘Let us throw in a little change or two.’

Yennifer of Vengeburg strode into the room. “Geralt, really?” she drawled sarcastically. “Can’t you keep your playthings in another room?” Yennifer reached out a hand to touch Duny.

Pavetta leapt forward and knocked the sorceress’s hand away. “That is mine.” She hissed. Geralt kept shoving his cock deep into Duny as if he could not stop, even while he stared at the two woman in shock and lust. Pavetta stepped forward and grabbed Yennifer’s raven hair. “If you are here, then you play by my rules.” She decreed before kissing Yennifer firmly. Yennifer softened at her kiss, opening her mouth to accept Pavetta’s tongue thrusting into her lush mouth like a cock. Pavetta pulled her back and spat derisively into her open mouth. Yennifer gulped in shock then moaned and reached down into the slit of her skirt to play obviously with her pussy.

Pavetta looked over at Geralt and ordered him to release Duny. Geralt let him down and the younger man hurriedly pulled on his trousers while Pavetta contemplated both men silently. Yennifer silently slid away from Pavetta’s grasp and slunk over towards Geralt. Yennifer approached Geralt while lifting up her top slightly to reveal her navel. She swung her hips as she walked the few steps, caressing her bosom. Pavetta watched, held still by the goddess’ curiosity, as the sorceress shamelessly teased Geralt. He tried to back up while sending shocked looks towards Pavetta and Duny, but hit one of the chairs, and his resistance was feeble as Yennifer leaned in to kiss him. Pavetta realized as she watched the scene of Geralt and Yennifer that she was becoming aroused. Pavetta’s hand slipped down to touch herself as Yennifer guided his hands to her breasts, her nipples pronounced under the fabric.

She did have Duny, though, and had been distracted enough not to notice him before he kissed her on the neck from behind. There was an impulse in her to react, to push him off, slap him, punch him, but Melitele stopped her from doing so, even when he groped her bust forcefully. She couldn't help but enjoy it, though. She could feel herself getting warmed up to him, down to her panties, but he already had a very definite bulge in his leather pants, pressing against her buttocks. ‘Yes,’ Melitele whispered in her mind, ‘There is no shame in dreams, child. Feel their pleasure; all of them. Enjoy this.’

Geralt's breathing was getting heavier with Yennifer pressing tightly against him. Yennifer was beautiful, with her long raven hair and lavender eyes that Geralt found dangerous yet sexy at the same time. She had a body to boot, a full yet pert bust, at least in the top, a round ass and long legs that were mostly covered with long boots almost reaching the top of her very long slit in her skirt. Now she was rubbing that body against him, and he could already feel his cock straining against his pants.

"I've wanted your cock from the beginning," Yennifer slipped out.

"And I've wanted to fuck you ever since we met," Duny said to Pavetta's ear, but loud enough for them all to hear. It was disconcerting; knowing and feeling how Geralt felt while experiencing her own pleasure. Pavetta was almost over whelmed by all the sensations and emotions.

"Please, Mistress, allow me to serve you," Duny said to Pavetta especially, lowering the tone but not the volume of his voice, making Pavetta shiver just before he ripped her top open. Her breasts were still safely in her shirt’s confines, because Duny had managed to rip a relatively clean opening between her busts, just big enough for him to handle them under the shirt.

Yennifer dropped to her knees between Geralt’s spread legs and dug Geralt's equipment from his pants; wasting no time in mouthing the erect cock and fondling his balls. He his hips slammed forward as he was pretty much overwhelmed with Yennifer taking her tongue around his cockhead or deep throating his sensitive rod. Pavetta watched with amazement as the illusion of Yennifer took Geralt deep into her throat, even thinking about it made her gag. Duny was all over her, licking her tits through the rip and trying to work his hands under her shirt or skirt. His touch felt hot on her stomach and she wondered what the Goddess thought she was doing. It seemed pretty obvious she was going to have sex with him, but even with the liquidly hot feeling of lust building up in her body, she wasn't sure she wanted to.

She took Duny by his smooth hair, to lift him up from licking her thighs ("Wha?" he said), and walked him to one of the chairs. She pushed him down and reached under her skirt with both hands, bringing her blue panties down. Duny seemed to relished the sight of her taking the panties off while bringing his own member out into the open, standing erect.

Yennifer was making sexy sounds as she worked on and around Geralt's cock, and he was joining her, feeling like he was ready to shoot a bucketful of cum. “Oh you filthy girl,” he moaned, “God, I thought I’d never see you on your knees for me. Your lips are made for cock sucking!” He was tensing up, and if he had wanted, he might have been able to resist Yennifer's hands, lips, tongue and even cheeks rubbing on his cock for a while longer, but he was dizzy in his head and it was tough to focus, barely holding up in the final moments before he erupted, all the pressure exploding throughout his body again and again while his cock spewed its white seed on Yennifer. The strands of his seed covered her face as she wanked him relentlessly, but even more flew on her top, her covered mounds getting bathed in cum. "Ungh! Ah!" moaned Geralt helplessly while his sperm splashed on the expectant Yennifer.

Pavetta was watching the scene while riding Duny, his hard pole probing her sensitive depths. She ground down on his cock, using it as little more than a tool to get herself off and paying no attention to his increasingly desperate moans. Seeing how the other woman accepted Geralt's load on herself, cum covering her cheeks, nose and lips and sticking and absorbing into her shirt, Pavetta felt a warm feeling spread into her body as well, making her grind her pelvis in Duny's lap even more eagerly. He was much less in this dream than the real Duny. His whispered words of submission stimulated her but, unlike Geralt, she knew this wasn’t real and it was a poor comparison. She knew she looked more enthusiastic, her eyes amorous and her mouth open in pleasure. The goddess’ power soared through her; arousing her and those she touched in turn. His cock felt so good in her pussy, as though she felt him with all her body, her silver-blond hair flailing as she swung her head up. He was still groping her breasts through the rip, caressing the soft globes and their erect nipples.

"I want to give you more," Geralt mused as Yennifer rose up, wiping cum from her mouth to the back of her hand, although it didn't help much with the sticky strands deposited on her beautiful features. "Beautiful slut," he said but had no time before he tasted his own sperm in Yennifer’s sloppy kiss. Instinctively, his hands made for her breasts, not thinking, but he found his cum there, too, her shirt wet with cum.

Pavetta came with a loud moan, riding Duny in a frenzy as her insides turned to fire, moaning in ecstasy as she rubbed his cock with her wet quim. Even in her climax, she was aware that he hadn't come. Surprisingly considering how eager he had been earlier, Duny let Pavetta lean on him and recover from her ordeal, her cheeks flushed and body sweaty under her clothes, his hard-on still standing in her wet cove. The rip in her shirt had opened enough to allow a good view of her round tits, and Duny saw his chance, ripping the top open more to stretch it around her bosoms, squeezing the luscious orbs tightly together.

"Hey! Don't mess my clothes up!" Pavetta admonished, but grudgingly let it pass as Duny just grinned.

Geralt had noticed Pavetta cum and went to get a closer look. He knelt down at their feet and looked up. “My Prince and Princess,” he rumbled quietly. Duny looked down, smiled, and then cupped his jaw in one hand. He drew Geralt forward to press his lips against Pavetta’s spread wide slit. Pavetta gasped and jolted in Duny’s grasp as Geralt licked desperately at her clit. He licked lower and shuddered as he licks along Duny’s cock where it enters Pavetta’s trembling cunt.

She gasped around him, and Geralt delved furiously with his tongue, the taste of her hot on his lips. The hand in his hair tightened, holds his head in place like iron. “Take your time,” said Duny, voice back to its infuriating languor. “You want Princess Pavetta to enjoy herself, don’t you?”

There’s no way he can even answer, only whine in acknowledgement against Pavetta’s sex, but she gasps at the feeling of his voice against her and he sets to work, steadily, tries to ignore the pressure building within him. If only he could see them, just for a moment, one glimpse of Pavetta’s face as she writhes in Duny’s arms. He can hear them kissing above him; soft wet sounds as Pavetta’s moans echo into Duny’s chest. But as soon as his eyes strain upwards Geralt is tugged back into his place, hears Duny’s short indulgent laugh as Geralt steadies himself on his knees, and if that sends another spike of arousal stabbing through him it’s not important, it can’t be, not with the princess above him and her pleasure his charge.

“Geralt! Oh Geralt, please!”

Geralt lifts his head at the plea but Duny pushes his head down once more. “I’ll say when you are finished here, lovely. Trust me. I’ll take good care of our Princess.” Geralt can feel Duny begin to thrust again into Pavetta’s cunt and he latches his mouth once more onto the top of her slit and sucks hard. Yennifer slips gracefully into the mix, her breasts still sopping with Geralt’s cum. She kisses Pavetta and the cum smears all over Pavetta’s bound up breasts. “Oh my apologies,” Yennifer whispers sarcastically, but she bends to lick and suck Pavetta’s breasts until they are clean again and then more so.

All Geralt can hear however is Pavetta’s gasps turning into muffled shrieks, tiny cries of praise cut off partway through. For Duny, more than for him, he’s only the instrument, here to provide what they need and leave the rest to them. To keep doggedly at his rhythm as she kicks her legs, traps his head between the vise of her thighs. He ought to have known she’d make this difficult, she does with everything else, but Duny’s hand is as demanding in his hair as her sex is against his lips and there’s nothing else, even his labored breath forgotten.

Duny shudders violently and thrust in. His balls slap contemptuously against Geralt’s face as he struggles to breath with how tightly Duny is holding his face pressed to Pavetta’s cunt. Then suddenly he withdraws and Geralt’s face grows wet with Duny’s seed as if flows gently out of their princess’s womb.

“Go ahead,” Duny says quietly. “Finish it.” Geralt opens his mouth and licks frantically, desperate to suck every drop of Duny’s cum mixed irresistibly with Pavetta’s sweet juices. Pavetta cries out as he finally lets himself surge forward, seeking the taste of them mixed so intimately with all the devotion he has. Her legs wrap around him, clasped firm around his head, and he licks gently now, never pauses as she trembles around him.

Pavetta slips her legs down from Duny’s knees and slid them closed. Duny stood, lifting her easily and settled her into the seat he had just vacated. Yennifer and Duny went to Geralt; the former dragging his reddened mouth to her breasts to lick away his own seed and the latter to kneel beside the witcher and stroke his cock. Pavetta squirmed and dragged her fingers across her cunt. 

‘What now?’ she asked Melitele. ‘What do you desire?’ the goddess answered.

Pavetta cocked her head, “Yennifer..” she called lightly.

The sorceress looked up but couldn’t stop moaning as Geralt chewed lightly on her nipples. “What a slut.” Pavetta spat out. “Look at you moaning like a whore. But I suppose that cannot be helped. A woman who thinks she can steal my man is clearly little more than a dumb whore.”

Geralt stirred slightly as if to protest, but with a caress from Pavetta’s hand, he sunk down into Duny’s amorous embrace; his eyes a glassy pink. Pavetta smirked at Yennifer and made a motion. The woman came over and stood before the princess. “Stupid whore, don’t you know you should kneel. Geralt, make her understand her place.”

Geralt looked up and with a swift motion, pushed Yennifer down to her knees and her head down to Pavetta’s toes. Yennifer moaned and began kissing Pavetta’s feet. “Strip her,” Pavetta ordered.

Geralt found he couldn't drag the tight skirt and panties very far though, especially with Yennifer's boots in the way. It was a wonder how she was able to squeeze into the skirt in the first place, especially with her full butt. It was a skimpy article though, and Geralt figured an alternative solution, tearing the skirt apart at the cut on the side. He threw the piece of cloth away and proceeded to her panties, which tore easily as well. Now he could appreciate the sight of Yennifer's black muff, her hair wet with her fluid of anticipation. He placed his hands firmly on her bare asscheeks, positioned his cock on her delicious cunt, and got ready—

“Don’t you dare, Geralt.” Pavetta ordered. He stopped and groaned in agonized desire. He tried to push forward but his hips refused to move. “Punish her now.” Geralt raise one hand back. SLAP! His hand came down hard on Yennifer’s buttocks. The sorceress yelped and then pressed her bottom upwards. 

“Filthy slut.” Pavetta commented and shoved her head down with her foot. “Take your punishment with some dignity.” Yennifer moaned in pleasure as Geralt’s hand rained down on her ass, turning it a bright cherry red. “Geralt is mine. Do you understand that now? I will rip your magic out of him and, if you ever dare come back, I will have him beat your pussy until it is bright red and sore and then I will turn you out for my soldiers to fuck. Understand, you dumb whore?” Yennifer writhed in pleasure, eyes staring up at Pavetta lustfully. She pressed her breasts into Pavetta’s soft feet and came explosively with a little whimper of pain.

Just then, Pavetta got up and Duny stood and followed her. Geralt turned to look where they were going and Yennifer faded from the dream. Pavetta and Duny went to the fireplace and lay on the carpet there. Pavetta pushed Duny down on the ground. ‘What else do I want?’ she pondered. Pavetta slid off the remains of her shirt and slid out of her skirt. Pavetta ripped her petticoat into strips while glancing around almost absently. “Geralt, bring me my undergarments.”

While Geralt searched, Pavetta bound her husband until he could barely squirm. He groaned; his arms began to ache where they were bound behind his back. He looked up and Pavetta was pleased to see jealousy burning in his eyes. ‘Whatever you desire,’ the goddess reminded her. Geralt was bare skinned and kneeling behind Pavetta, his thick thighs surrounding her, caging her as she sat up on her knees. Geralt held Pavetta close to his chest, his mouth attached to her neck, his fingers between her thighs coming from behind. Duny’s loins throbbed and he groaned again, his face growing hot. Pavetta laughed to see anger growing in his expression. The slick sounds of his wife dripping wet as Geralt fingered her, her breathy moans in rhythm with Geralt’s undulating hand.

“You see, we don’t need you at all my husband.” Pavetta murmured with a smirk, the contours of her face hidden in flickering shadow but her eyes faintly red. Duny struggled to be free, his bonds biting into his flesh, but Pavetta was too good at her knot work, and with Geralt was there to help her pull the ropes tight…

He whimpered, face hot, desperate to be free, to drag Geralt away from her, to be the source of Pavetta’s pleasure. His mouth, his fingers, his cock… Geralt, bound and forced to watch, forced to endure his arousal with no real promise of release. Pavetta groaned at Duny’s thoughts; the thoughts she wanted him to think.

“Husband…” Pavetta gasped out, shuddering against Geralt. Yes, Duny would be angry to be bound and gagged on the floor of his own home, forced to watch his wife impassioned with another man. He would be angry but he would be hard, so hard, his cock aching to be free, but all his efforts to free himself were in vain, unable to stop the scene that was unfolding in front of him. The weathered rooms of Kaer Morhan faded away to what Pavetta imagined an imperial bedroom looked like. The Black Sun banner prominent beside the var Emreis heraldry. This was what she wanted to see. Her husband, the man who would be Emperor…humbled.

Duny wanted to drag Geralt away from her, to mount him in a cruel act of dominance, to show him the hierarchy of his palace, that no one touched his wife without his permission, but he laid there, his cock aching and throbbing. His erection was obvious, he was certain, as he laid on his side, trousers refastened and bulging indecently. He groaned, thinking of Geralt beneath him, begging him to stop, crying out all the more if Duny actually did stop…

Geralt laughed, pulling Pavetta’s thighs a little wider, so Duny could see just how many fingers he had inside of his wife, four, working on a fifth, his whole wrist… Duny had to close his eyes, his head swimming, hot and angry and wanting to touch, wanting to dictate their movements, but he was helpless.

“See something you like, boy?” Geralt said and Pavetta gave a breathy laugh in response and Duny’s nostrils were flaring. If he got himself free, Geralt would…

But then Geralt was pulling his fingers from her cunt and making her give off a frustrated little gasp. Geralt picked her up and lifted her like she weighed no more than a house cat. Duny’s eyes flew open as he saw Geralt’s cock, big and hard and leaking, pushing between her thighs as he resettled her back down.

He snarled and Pavetta leaned forward to firmly push her sodden panties into his mouth. He tasted her juices and chewed furiously on the silk gag. Duny flailed, trying to free himself, and Geralt didn’t seem to care or notice, lifting Pavetta up, so that they were closer to him, on the edge of the carpet, close enough to touch Duny. Geralt made Pavetta squeeze her thighs around his cock, and then he was rutting her, his oil slicked cock sliding between her thighs, making her moan as she reached back, fisting his white hair. They kissed and Duny was struggling to free himself, struggling to push the both of them down, angry and eager to slap Geralt, wanting so badly to thrust his cock into Pavetta as he held Geralt down by his throat, and then—

And then Geralt’s breaths were coming in faster, Pavetta’s as well. Duny could only still himself and watch, desperately drawing in air through his nose as he felt himself growing dizzy.

“Pavetta!” Geralt gasped out and she moaned in response. She reached out and grabbed his hair, forcing Duny to watch.

They were so close and Duny could feel the heat of their bodies, Pavetta, his wife, his wife moaning for another man, allowing another man between her legs while her husband, engorged and aroused and... So enamoured with the two of them, watching them gasp, their cheeks flushed as they moved against each other, in time with each other.

Duny was a deeply possessive and jealous man, going so far as to become surly when he had to watch Pavetta pleasuring herself, with a wooden dildo, even her own fingers. She was his, just as Geralt belonged to him. He wanted to be the one to pleasure them, to watch them gasp and groan and spill for him.

Geralt was thrusting faster now, his cock so big, the head a dark purple as it slipped between his foreskin and Duny wanted to taste… He selfishly wanted to be the one that brought them to orgasm, that controlled what they felt and how they felt it, but he was left tied up, wholly at their mercy, humiliated by them and Duny would love it! Pavetta moaned as the goddess’ power rose.

“P-Pavetta!” Geralt gasped out and then Duny was being hit in the face with Geralt’s spill, hot and copious. He tried to jerk away, but he couldn’t, forced to lay there and take the spill of the man that dared to touch his wife without his explicit permission.

Geralt’s cock softened between her thighs, but Pavetta only tightened around him, forcing him to stay between her as she smirked down at Duny. “Oh… Husband… Did you enjoy that?” She laughed at him, pulling away from Geralt, letting him fall to the carpet in an overheated, gasping mess.

Pavetta was power. She was control.

She pushed Duny onto his back, then straddled herself over his face. Duny drew in a sharp breath; Pavetta smelled of sex and cock. She was wet, dripping onto his face and he couldn’t even use his tongue to pleasure her. He groaned through his gag, desperate to please her, but he was left useless on his back.

Rustling came from behind her, but Duny could see nothing around Pavetta’s thighs, leaving him blind and hot, but then he could see Geralt’s fingers pressing into Pavetta again, fingering her hard, his hand snapping against Duny’s face every few strokes. She was moaning, reaching down the length of Duny’s body and he felt, finally, a hand on his cock.

Duny looked away in shame as he let Geralt pleasure his wife, made to listen to her pants as she touched him. Her hand was always so strong around him, grasping him tightly, too tightly, but he could only groan. Her fingers were slicked, from her own wetness, from oil, he didn’t care, he just forced himself to look as Pavetta’s cunt was fingered, her wetness dripping onto his face, adding to the mess Geralt left, and the thick scent of her arousal drove him insane.

Pavetta began to gasp louder, the movements of her hands faltering on his cock, but Duny was too far gone, feeling the pressure in his gut close to bursting. She swiped her thumb over the head of his cock twice more, drawing down his foreskin and then he heard her cry out, watched as she spasmed around Geralt’s hand, more wetness gushing and dripping onto his face and he was gone. His cock jerked, twitched, throbbed and he was moaning against the silk in his mouth, spilling hard, spilling fast, gushing over Pavetta’s fist, over himself.

A weight pushed into him, and he struggled to breathe, Pavetta collapsing atop him as she spent herself with breathy gasps. The heat and wetness of her cunt, the smell of sex, was almost suffocating him with her thighs still indecently around his face, but then Geralt was there, lifting her up to cradle against his chest. Pavetta moaned and she pushed Geralt down and straddled him.

The dream faded away and Geralt shifted uncomfortably. What a strange dream! He blinked sleep out of his eyes and coughed. A weight shifted on his hips and he snapped his cat eyes open. Pavetta sat astride him like a queen on her throne. The red moon light echoed in her eyes and she stroked his cock to hardness between her soft thighs.

“Pavetta?” Geralt rasped. His throat was rough and ravaged from coughing and his chest hurt from coughing. However despite that, here was his Princess and she needed him. So he forced himself awake.

Pavetta shushed him and leaned down just enough that her ripe bare breasts hung teasingly in his face; almost close enough to taste but not close enough. He wanted to cup her breasts in his hands and work the soft skin until it grew rosy pink. His hands jerked to a stop and he looked down in shock to see his hands bound to the bedstead with iron manacles.

“Pavetta, what are you doing?”

“Hush Geralt or do I need to gag you?”

Geralt felt his tongue lie still and flat in his mouth against his will and wished desperately for his medallion. Lust roared through him and he found himself hard and dripping with desire. Pavetta smiled and lifted herself up, mounted him like a goddess. She rode him hard, her silver-blond hair wild around her head. Geralt panted with the need to pound into her, to spill his seed deep inside this woman but he couldn’t move. 

She looked down at him and smiled, “My Geralt, how hard you are for me. Your body can’t resist it can you? You smell a woman in heat and you stand up firm and long as a randy wolf. I should see about getting some ladies to help me keep this insatiable cock wet.”

Geralt shook his head. No, he didn’t want that. He didn’t want any woman other than Pavetta. Yennifer drifted into his mind and he viciously pushed the thought away. How could he think of her at a time like this? When Pavetta needed him? Her husband was dead and She needed him. Needed to be hers. Just hers.

“Only yours!” he gritted out past his lax tongue.

Pavetta paused in her fucking. She leaned over him until her long hair fell like a curtain cutting them off from the world. “Are you mine?” She asked quietly.

Geralt swallowed and felt his lust surge, “Yes.” 

“Do you swear it?”

Geralt groaned as she shifted atop him and squeezed his cock with her inner muscles, “I swear it!”

She trailed her nails gently down to his nipples and twisted. “Do you swear to follow me faithfully, forsaking all others, and abiding by my will alone?”

Geralt desperately tried to fuck up into her but he was powerless beneath her. “I swear it. I’m yours.”

Pavetta kissed him triumphantly, pressing him back against the bed in desperate lust. She pounded her hips down and Geralt began to howl in desperation. 

“Come, my own.” Pavetta hissed, “Come in me, mine, mine, my wife.”

Geralt shuddered in helpless lust and Pavetta crowed her pleasure. “You like that! My wife, mine, My randy wolf wife, come now. Mine, my wife. Fuck!”

Pavetta squeezed down on him hard and all Geralt could manage to do was jerk his hips in little rabbit thrusts. He came with a howl of relief. Pavetta rode his softening and sensitive cock until it was too much.

“Pavetta,” he groaned, “Please, enough.”

Pavetta’s red eyes settled on him and she reached back to plunge two oil slick fingers into his ass, brutally assaulting his prostate. Geralt groaned in painful over-sensitivity, his skin prickled and pulled but his cock hardened. Geralt gasped in lust as Pavetta lifted up, pushed his knees up beside his ears, pulled his swollen cock down between his thighs, and then mounted his cock astride his hips. It was a deep stretch and Geralt shuddered at the vulnerability the position put him in. On his back with his legs up around his face; it was like he really was a woman being fucked good by her husband. Pavetta grinned down at him as she fucked down onto his cock, pinning him in the awkward position by her weight. She owned him now. She reached down and grabbed his hair.

“My wife, we are not going to be done here until my thighs drip with your seed. And I still have more work for you after that. Going to put your mouth to work, yes my randy wife. You will be as sore as a virgin on her wedding night by the time I’m done with you tonight.” Geralt groaned and his cock gave a pitiful squirt of seed at the very thought. “My slut, my slut wife with her leg ups waiting to get fucked. My wife, my randy whore wife to fuck whenever I want, like it’s all you’re good for, you’re so good, so good for me –”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note: Abortion happens in the chapter. The parents are unaware and did not chose to abort their child. This author advocates a woman's right to chose, but characters in the story may not.
> 
> EDIT!! Ok so there was a little plot in the porn chapter. Summary:
> 
> Pavetta, possessed by Melitele, invaded Geralt's sex dream about himself and Duny then altered his dream to fit her own desires. This revealed that she felt challenged by Yennefer's connection to Geralt, that she wished Duny to feel jealous of her attention (or at least to want her in some way that could not be challenged by Geralt), and that she wanted to control Geralt more than their previous relationship had allowed.
> 
> Having established that, Melitele/Pavetta had sex with Geralt where he couldn't say no, even though he felt the situation was off. Melitele "married" the two of them in that she demanded Geralt swear submissive vows to Pavetta. Geralt was unaware that any supernatural binding was taking place.

The carriage wasn’t well sprung and the constant rattling was making Geralt irritated. He’d much rather be riding Roach, but after Pavetta directed the coach man to tie Roach to the back of the coach; well, Geralt had just gone along with it. It wasn’t worth arguing about, he told himself. Pavetta had been acting strange since they left the temple. It was worth it to keep an eye on her; to try and figure out what was bothering her. 

Geralt looked up and caught Pavetta yanking her gaze away from him. Again. The fourth time in less than an hour. Normally Geralt would have caught Pavetta with rosy cheeks or a certain glint to her eye, but now all he could see was guilt: her eyes shifting off to the side, her fingers twisting her wedding ring over and over, her pale skin turning chalky. Alright, so maybe it wasn’t the rattling of this damn coach which was upsetting him.

“Pavetta…” he began.

“It’s nothing, Geralt.”

He let out a long worried sigh and leaned back in his seat. Pavetta fidgeted under his gaze. Her eyes were fixed outside the window. All of a sudden she stiffened and looked closer. With a sigh of relief, she knocked on the roof of the coach. Geralt grabbed onto the windows edge as the coach abruptly slowed down. Pavetta swore as she was nearly thrown off of her seat and into Geralt’s lap. Geralt smiled crookedly at her but she blanched and pushed away from him. 

The coach door opened and Pavetta swept out. Geralt swore and shoved himself through the tiny door after her. They hadn’t even stopped in a proper village. Beside the coach was a single lonely cottage surrounded by flower gardens. Geralt noted the mortar and pestle painted above the door and his shoulders relaxed. Pavetta knocked on the door and a wizened old lady peeked out. She eyed the hired coach and Geralt in his sea stained armor before turning her gaze to the lovely young woman looking at her intently.

“I do not care for solicitors. As you can see, I live a quiet solitary life. If you are not customers, please be about your business.” The old woman’s voice was like her skin, tough and leathery. Geralt quirked a grin at the no-nonsense tone. Pavetta leaned in and whispered something to her in a pointedly quiet tone. “Speak up, girl, I’m deaf in that ear.” Geralt started to chuckle. Pavetta shot him a glare and then politely asked to speak with her privately. The woman grouchily let her in and slammed the door in the men’s faces. 

Geralt looked at the coach man. The man spat, turned, and began pissing on a rock. “Well alright, then.” Geralt muttered and went to check on Roach. Geralt had time to water, feed, and brush Roach down before the old woman came out and stalked over to him. “Your lady lass needs some very expensive herbs and has no coin to pay me with. Tell me why I shouldn’t throw you all out on your ear and be on with me day?”

Geralt turned to look down at her. The old woman was barely tall enough for her hooked nose to reach his chest, but she glared at him like a dragon. He snorted, “Why don’t you tell me? You would have done so already if you didn’t want something.”

The old woman tipped her head in consideration, “Your lady tells me that you are a witcher. Folk around here have a problem, people traveling at night on the old east road have been going missing. The headman says it’s the work of bandits or drowners coming up out of the river. I noticed, however, that the disappearances only happen on foggy nights. Been carrying a bit of quicksilver with me when I travel ever since.”

“Quicksilver and fog...” Geralt said thoughtfully, “You think it’s a foglet?”

The woman nodded, “A big one too, I’d imagine. A few children or goats go missing would be normal, but this beast, whatever it is, carried off a full grown man with naught but a few traces of blood left behind.”

Geralt narrowed his eyes. Pavetta came to the door of the cottage and Geralt stepped over to her. “If what you need is herbs,” he said slowly, eyeing the coachman. “Then I can probably gather what you need. I don’t like the idea of leaving you alone.” Pavetta looked up at him, still pale with guilt, and place one hand on his scruffy jaw. “Please do this for me, Geralt. I’ll explain when you return. I’ll explain everything.”

Geralt leaned into her hand and swallowed. “Alright, but stay in the cottage and bared the door while I’m gone.” Pavetta nodded wanly and Geralt when to collect Roach. Both women were back in the cottage by the time he had mounted up. With one last warning look towards the coachman, Geralt rode off towards the old east road.

It was late by the time Geralt hauled himself out of the cavern mouth; a very glorious way of saying a small hole in the ground leading to a stinking bat toilet. He hauled the foglet’s head up after him and lurched down to the river to wash. A couple drowners, too stupid to know better, came up to see who was splashing about by the water’s edge. That didn’t go well for them. “All and all, a productive evening,” he told Roach as she stood solidly while he tied a bleeding monster head to her flank. Gods, he loved his horse.

A scream broke the night stillness and Geralt whirled around, sword hissing out of its sheath. He strained his senses. When the scream came again, he could tell that it was far away. But he threw himself onto Roach’s back anyway. He knew that voice. 

He rode like a man possessed back along the roads; Pavetta’s screams urged him on. He took the corner of the crossroad’s too fast and nearly ran Roach headlong into their hired coach, racing away into the darkness. Roach reared up to avoid the other horses and Geralt cast quickly to calm the mare before she threw him. He looked after the coach but Pavetta’s screams drew him away from the fleeing coach and back to the cottage.

He threw himself off his horse and broke down the door with a single slam of his shoulder. Pavetta looked up from where she lay on a low straw mattress. Her beautiful silver-blond hair was soaked with sweat and she clutched at her belly with both hands. “Geralt,” she gasped. Geralt turned on the old woman sitting calmly by the fire. 

“What did you do?” he growled out as he advanced. The old woman looked up from her knitting briefly. 

“Nothing she didn’t ask for.”

Geralt snarled and raise a hand to strike at her.

“Geralt!” 

He whirled back and Pavetta held out a hand to him. “Please,” she said in a gentler tone, “Please, Geralt. She did only as I asked.”

Geralt crossed the small room to kneel and take Pavetta’s hand. “What did you do?” He whispered.

Pavetta smiled tremulously before doubling over with a pained groan. After a minute she looked back up. “I knew you wouldn’t let me do it, if you knew.” She panted. “But I had to. I had to.”

The old woman harrumphed. “No woman has to kill all the life in their womb. You’ve made a choice, right enough. Time will tell if you come to regret it.” She looked over at Pavetta reproachfully, “Children are a blessing of Melitele.”

Geralt pulled Pavetta up and against his chest. “Why?” he asked. “You love children. You always said you were going to have more after...” Geralt struggled to hold her as she shook her head wildly. “Why?” he asked again. “You promised you’d tell me.”

Pavetta gulped back her tears. “I did promise. I did.” She paused for a moment of racking pain. “I did it because of Foltest.”

“Foltest? King of Temeria?”

“I’m going to marry him.”

Geralt shook his head in disbelief, “Pavetta, Duny just died. Why are you…”

“Because it is the only way to save the north!” she broke in, “Nilfgaard is coming. Nilfgaard with their legions under the Black Sun; their armadas of ships. They will come for Cintra.”

Geralt stilled and tightened his grip on Pavetta, like someone was going to take her from him. It must have hurt but Pavetta didn’t say a word. “Emhyr of Nilfgaard…” he said slowly.

Pavetta nodded, her eyes bright with agony. “He wants Cintra to march his armies into the north. Oh, Cintra could hold; The lioness of Cintra with Skellege’s ships to guard our harbors; Calanthe would hold until every citizen died in Cintra’s defense. Not forever; not against the numbers Nilfgaard can raise: a Nilfgaard with its rightful king back on the throne, blessed by the Gods, and with something to prove?” She shook her head. “The North must stand united or we are lost.”

Geralt bit his lip, “But why your… why kill your womb?” His hand slid down to rest over her belly, spasming with agony, as if he could draw her pain into himself and away from her. “Why go so far?”

Pavetta placed her hand over his and pressed down against the pain. “Cirilla,” she gasped, “Is my heir. My child: mine and Duny’s and yours. It’s her who I will see on the throne of Cintra and Temeria, not Foltest’s get. He won’t know I’m barren and I will only need a few years to solidify power before he can be…removed.”

“Pavetta!”

“It has to be done. I need a power base separate from mother. Temeria is the only realm powerful and venerable enough. With me, a young fruitful woman, on the Temerian throne, the other kings will throw themselves at my feet; hoping that an alliance will lead to a marriage.”

“And an empire for them.” Geralt drew back a little, “But it will be you on the throne at the end.” Pavetta grabbed his hand to keep him from retreating further.

“I know you don’t like it, Geralt. I don’t either. I never wanted this: politics and blood and murder, but please don’t leave me. Without you there to protect me, I’ll be dead in a month. Maybe less.”

She gathered more words to try and persuade him when an even bigger wave of pain struck her and she doubled over. She screamed out and the old woman started up. She shoved her way in between Geralt and Pavetta and began to check her over.

“This is not right. This has gone on too long. Girl,” she snapped, “You said your womb was empty. Is there any chance you had a babe growing in you?”

Pavetta looked at Geralt, but then shook her head. “I bled moon’s blood when I was on the ship. Just three weeks ago. I’ve been sequestered in a Temple of Melitele since.”

The woman hissed out a breath as she rubbed under Pavetta’s jaw. “And you’ve slept with no man since then?”

Geralt stilled and slowly looked down at Pavetta’s belly under his hand. “Just me. A week ago.” His voice was rough as if he’d swallowed a load of nails. “But I am sterile. The mutations make it so.”

The old woman clucked angrily and began mixing herbs. “You must have blessed by Melitele that night then, witcher. Too bad. Now hush and let me work.”

Geralt stared at Pavetta’s belly and then her face. She was sobbing wretchedly. 

“Oh shit! Fuck, ahh,” Pavetta cursed, “Blessed by Melitele. I didn’t know! What have I done?” She sobbed and Geralt felt something cold settle in the pit of his stomach. 

“What have you done?” he asked and she flinched. “Pavetta, that night. It was so strange and unlike you.” She began shaking her head and he shook her like a cat shakes a rat. “What did you do?”

“I had to!” she shrieked out while she quaked in pain. “I needed her help!”

“Whose help?!”

“Melitele!”

The was a crash as the old woman dropped her bowl and it shattered. She was pale as milk when she turned to look at them. “You asked the goddess for help and then you try to cheat her of her due!” She shrieked. “Get out! Get out of my house!”

Geralt leaned down to protect Pavetta as the woman began to throw things. She wouldn’t be reasoned with and Geralt, in desperation, carried the screaming Pavetta out into the night. Roach, ever faithful, followed behind. Geralt carried her into the forest and found an old fallen tree under which he was able to build a shelter. Pavetta clenched a stick between her teeth to keep from screaming as he built a fire and laid out brush barricades to protect them from predators who would follow Pavetta’s blood scent straight to them. 

Geralt sat beside her all night as the herbs ravaged her body and aborted his child from her womb. In the end, when she lay swooning in the dirt, he gathered up the blood and tiny bits from her thighs. He buried them with all the respect he could. In the end, he didn’t know who to pray to but he laid his hand on the stones he had laid over the tiny grave and named the not-child, “Malina*… because… there are raspberries which grow in the wild outside your mother’s castle. If you had lived…I would have gathered them to eat with you every summer.” Geralt put his head in his hands and tried very hard not to think.

The sky was turning pink with the dawn when Pavetta awoke. She shivered in the early morning dew and pushed her hair out of her eyes. Geralt eyed her warily from the other side of the fire. He was cleaning his silver sword of some kind of iccor. “Geralt,” she rasped and choked. She clutched at her scream ravaged throat. He stared at her for a long moment before rising and bringing her his watersack. She took a grateful drink.

He knelt beside her but far enough away that they did not touch. “What exactly did you ask the goddess for?” He rumbled ominously.

Pavetta swallowed, “I can’t…I am not allowed to tell you. Or anyone!” she ended frantically when he shifted his weight as if to rise. “I can’t.”

Geralt dug his fingers into the ground, “Then tell me at least if what I feel for you is my own or if I am bewitched. Because I nearly left you to your fate three times last night and…” he stopped and looked away.

Pavetta stared at him. Geralt shuddered. “I couldn’t.”

Pavetta rubbed at her face, leaving streaks of dirt behind. “Of course you couldn’t, Geralt. You would never leave an injured woman alone in the woods no matter how she had wrong you.” She told him bitterly, feeling the ragged hole in her heart at the loss of his trust.

Geralt snapped his eyes up to her, “Then you admit it. You have wrong me.”

Pavetta sobbed and hugged her knees. “Yes. I admit it. And I’m sorry. I’ve felt terrible since…since…” She paused. “But I would do it again.” She spat out the words like vomit. 

Geralt slammed a hand down on the ground, “Why?” he asked and his voice had never sounded more betrayed.

Pavetta tugged at her hair, “Because of him,” she hissed. “Because of… Emhyr. He destroyed everything. He took Duny away from me and you! I want to see him humbled before me, the Queen of the North. I need it.” The words felt like a vow. “I would do anything to see it.”

They stared at each other. Geralt sat down and finally turned his gaze away to the fire. “What do we do now?” he mused, “I can’t trust my own feelings and you need me too much to ever tell me the truth again, don’t you?”

Pavetta sobbed just once, but fell silent.

There was a long silence made all the heavier by the pain between them. They were so still and silent a rabbit hopped into their clearing before catching sight of them and fleeing. Geralt let out a long mournful sigh. 

“I’ll take you back to Cintra, but then I’m leaving.”  
\-------  
The next three days of travel were long and full of tortured silences. Pavetta never begged for his forgiveness although when Geralt caught her watching him; her beautiful lips would form words which she left unspoken in sighs of regret. At the border of Cintra, they were taken over by cavalcades of relieved citizens. Pavetta smiled sadly and looked mournful as she explained over and over of the ship wreak and Geralt’s brave rescue. Geralt watched her, warily wondering if his unwilling admiration was truly his own feeling or something the goddess had instilled in him. She was so strong in many ways which were unfathomable to him. He thought he loved her still, but how could he be sure? Every night as they moved closer to the castle, he told himself that he was going to leave. Every night, he found himself slipping into Pavetta’s rooms to sleep in a chair. He always slipped back out before she woke.

Geralt was exhausted by it all when they finally reached the castle. They climbed out of a royal carriage and, for the first time, Pavetta turned to him and asked, “Please, Geralt, I know I betrayed you but couldn’t you just…”

“MAMA!”

A child’s shriek sliced through the air like a sword. Geralt turned to look and saw a young child, probably no more than four come pelting around a corner. The child’s silver-grey hair, which looked more a match to his than Pavetta’s, bounced wildly in the child’s wake. The small one crashed into Pavetta’s legs and Geralt caught Pavetta before she tipped over. 

“Mama! You’re back! Grandma said you were never coming back! That you and Papa had died and left me. I told her you would never ever leave me, not ever but she wouldn’t listen and she sent me to my room!”

Pavetta chuckled slightly and knelt down; her silk dress, which a courtier had ridden day and night to bring to her, getting dusty from the ground. She looked into her child’s face and her smile faded to a pain-filled blanch. Pavetta looked away.

“Mama?”

Pavetta stood and took the child’s hand. “I love you very much, my sweet wildling. And I am very happy to see you. But I need to introduce you to someone important.” She turned the child around to face Geralt. “This is Geralt. He is your destiny, my child.”

The child looked up at him fearlessly and Geralt was struck in the heart by Duny’s piercing eyes peering up at him in childish innocence. He understood now why Pavetta couldn’t look at the child’s face. Geralt thought his own heart was going to break but couldn’t look away from those eyes. He sank slowly to one knee and the child approached. The child pursed their lips (Pavetta’s lips under Duny’s eyes) and played with their silver grey hair nervously. “Hello. My name is Cirilla. What does it mean that you are my destiny?”

Geralt looked at his child of destiny; the child who from looks alone could have been born the child of him, Duny, and Pavetta. He ached for the child who died unborn, the child of Pavetta and his. He hated Pavetta for doing this, one more trap in this spiral of betrayal, but he reached out a gentle hand to hold Cirilla’s softly. 

“Hello, Ciri. I am Geralt. I,” he paused, “It means that I’m always going to stay with you. To look after you.”

Cirilla cocked her head as she considered the witcher’s words, “Ciri? I like that!” She gave him a hug, even though his armor must have been hard against her soft skin. “So you’ll stay here with me and Mama forever? If I’m your destiny?” Pavetta held her breath as she waited for Geralt’s answer. When it came her foolish heart broke over what she was doing and leapt in happiness at her success.

“You’re more than that, Ciri. Much more.”

The End

* Malina is a Polish name which means raspberry.


End file.
